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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29512932">pas de deux: beauty and brutality</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/justromandaydreams/pseuds/justromandaydreams'>justromandaydreams</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Formula 1 RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Ballet, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, I have a STORY to tell, M/M, this is gonna be a long one guys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:55:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,307</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29512932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/justromandaydreams/pseuds/justromandaydreams</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ballet requires discipline. It's a fact that's been drilled into Charles' head since the very beginning. He must look effortless, graceful, powerful, controlled. He's given up so much to reach that standard. But he's a Principal now.  It's no longer enough to just be beautiful. He must be perfect. And Charles would do anything to be perfect. Anything.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. la société suisse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>An introduction to whose who ft. pretty moodboards!<br/>Plot begins in next chapter :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. crowned by an overture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Charles stared up at the imposing doors of La Société Suisse. He’d never felt smaller than right then, the regal building looming above him. Not even in his wildest dreams had he imagined he’d make principal dancer a few months before his 23rd birthday. His mother had been so happy when he’d told her, she’d cried. It felt like just yesterday he’d left home to attend the Prima Academy in Italy. </p><p><em>“I promise I will make them proud mama. And you too.”</em> <span class="apple-converted-space">  </span></p><p><em>“Oh my petit prince we already are.”</em> <span class="apple-converted-space">  </span></p><p>Charles felt a twinge in his heart when he realized neither Jules nor his father would ever see him dance for the premiere company in Europe. Both had passed before he graduated from the Academy. He’d like to think they were watching over him, on today of all days. </p><p>Shouts of laughter and what sounded like a stampede of miniature elephants gave Charles just enough time to brace himself before George had an arm slung around him. </p><p>“Oy, Charlie Boy! Ready for your first day as Principal?”</p><p>Charles gave a tight smile and was about to respond before George cut him off, the tall Brit craning behind him at two boys struggling up the steps.</p><p>“Come on, you lot! The Queen of England moves faster than you two!”</p><p>“It’s not my fault Lando can’t buy a bag with a proper zipper,” Alex yelled back, helping to shove sweats and snacks back into the messy, overflowing bag Lando was struggling to haul up the steps.</p><p>“Oh, fuck off. At least my bag doesn’t look like everyone else.”</p><p>“You’re right,” Alex shot back. “It looks ugly.”</p><p>Charles felt a laugh bubble up as he watched Alex dodge a shoe thrown at his head. </p><p>“I hate to break it to you, Lando,” Charles said, taking the few steps down to join his friends. “But Alex is right.”</p><p>“Oh shut up, Leclerc. Not all of us carry Armani bags.”</p><p>“Lando!” Alex teased, pulling Charles tight against his side. “That is no way to talk to the newest principal of La Société Suisse.” A grin that could rival Daniel Ricciardo’s spreading wide across his face. “Which...congratulations again Charles. You’ll be amazing.”</p><p>Charles blushed and stared at his toes. “We should probably be going in. I can’t be late.”</p><p>George glanced down at his watch quickly. “Yes, the prima ballerina is right. Come on Lando, I’ll help you carry your shit. But we’re going shopping for a new bag this weekend. I’m not dealing with this shit all season.”</p><p>Charles grinned as he heard the two continue to bicker as they climbed the last few steps. Some things never changed.</p><p>“Ready?” Alex whispered down at him, one hand on the entry doors. The Thai dancer was still pressed tightly against him. Charles found the warmth comforting. </p><p>“As I’ll ever be,” he whispered back. </p><p>Alex gave him one last squeeze of reassurement before pushing the heavy door wide open with both hands, giving George and Lando enough time to clatter in behind him.</p><p>Together they made their way down the marble hallway towards the theater where members of the company were filing in. It being the first day of the new season, LSS’s artistic director Alain Prost would be revealing the first production of the season. As a member of the corps and then as a soloist, Charles had always eagerly anticipated this day. But now he found that that anticipation had turned into nausea. Gone were the days of wondering if he would snag a featured role or solo. He was a Principal now and the lead castings were done before the ballet was even announced. Nobody ever wondered which roles Valtteri, Daniel, and before Charles’ promotion, Sebastian, would play. Charles just hoped Alain and his board hadn’t gone with some fantastical, abstract ballet. As much as he appreciated the ingenuity, he needed a well-established character to lose himself in. Perhaps Kitri In<em>Don Quixote</em>or Esmeralda in<em>Notre Dame de Paris</em>. Charles had always liked that role.</p><p>When they reached the stage Alex, Lando, and George plopped down in the back with the rest of the corps de ballet. Charles normally would go sit with the soloists, Pierre, Dany, and Max. Walking past them was awkward to say the least. Especially as all three of them had been part of the company longer than him. He didn’t think Pierre or Dany begrudged him. Max, however, was a different story. The blonde dancer was glaring at him from where he was sitting. Charles made sure to give him a wide berth as he made his way to the front where Valterri Bottas and Daniel Ricciardo were. He didn’t entirely trust Max not to trip him, and he didn’t need to fall flat on his face in front of the entire company on his first day as Principal. </p><p>Finally reaching the front, Charles quietly sat down to the right of Daniel, leaving just over a meter’s distance between him and the Australian. </p><p>“We don’t bite, mate”</p><p>“What?” Charles looked up from where he’d been fiddling with the strap on his bag a bit surprised at the lighthearted tone. </p><p>Daniel laughed and reached out, long tan fingers wrapping around Charles' thin arm. “I said we don’t bite, kid.” He gave a tug, pulling Charles toward him. “No reason to sit so far away.”</p><p> </p><p>Slightly star struck, Charles let himself be moved by Daniel, like a planet pulled into orbit by the sun’s gravity, until he was sitting quite close to the easygoing dancer. </p><p>Valtteri had been watching this with a wry smile on his lips, seemingly amused but not surprised by Daniel’s antics. Leaning forward to peer around Daniel, he gave Charles a short wave which Charles returned. </p><p>Any chance of further conversation ended with the arrival of Alain Prost. Immediately the chatter of the company died down to a murmur and then silence; the Artistic Director still effortlessly commanded attention, just as he had during his days as a principal dancer. </p><p>“Good morning.” Alain clasped his hands looking down at the company with a placid expression. “Today our new season begins. I expect you all have been eagerly anticipating the reveal of our first production. But before that,” Charles realized what was about to happen just a split second before Alain walked towards him and held out an elegant hand. “I’d like to officially introduce LSS’s newest principal.”</p><p>Charles could feel himself blushing as Alain pulled him to his feet. He should have seen this coming. Oh god why was everybody quiet. He thought there might be at least a little applause. How was he supposed to ever show his face again? Did everyone really think he was that unqualified?</p><p>“Gentleman of La Société Suisse, I am pleased to present, Charles Leclerc.”  </p><p>Charles could feel Alain pulling his hand into the air. Couldn’t the man put him out of his misery already. It was so clear that his promotion wasn’t going down well with the company. And-oh. Wait. Was that applause?</p><p>Charles racing mind came to screeching halt as the roar of applause and cheers swept through the company. He was sure his face was the same shade as Victoria Pages’ red shoes. </p><p>Once the clapping finally died out, Alain let Charles sit back down which Charles promptly did, the Monegasque still reeling from the mental rollercoaster of an experience</p><p>“Welcome to the club,” Daniel bumped Charles' shoulder with his. “They’re going to love you.”</p><p>“I thought nobody was going to clap for a second,” Charles whispered back.</p><p>Daniel gave him an odd look, squinting his rich brown eyes. “You-you have no idea how special you are, do you?” </p><p>Charles shifted uncomfortably. How was he supposed to respond to that? Luckily, he was saved from the awkward moment by Alain clapping his hands twice to quiet the company. </p><p>“Now the moment you’ve all been waiting for.” Charles crossed his fingers hoping for the best. “I am pleased to announce that the first production of LSS’s season is…” Alain took a beat, letting the suspense build. “<em>Giselle</em>!”</p><p>The company exploded in excitement at the reveal. But Charles felt his stomach sink.<em>Giselle</em>. The board couldn’t have picked a more high-pressure production for his debut. Charles wasn’t a fool. He knew he’d already been cast as Giselle. It wasn’t like Daniel or Valtteri could exactly pull off the famous fragile village belle. </p><p>“Nico Rosberg has returned from Berlin and will be your choreographer. Although all principal roles are already filled, he will be observing morning class tomorrow to fill the remaining parts. Rehearsals begin next week after your physical check-ins with Romain. Now go!” Alain clapped his hand twice more. “You’re dismissed for lunch.”</p><p>Most company members were on their feet immediately, bags in tow and chatting excitedly about casting prospects. Charles, however, remained seated on the floor, trying to process the terrifying reality that Giselle would be his first ever role as Principal. A sharp kick to the small of his back yanked him back to reality. Charles whirled around to see Max Verstappen smiling at him, not unlike the way a lion does at a gazelle before they pounce. </p><p>“Well looks like the board and Prost have more faith in you than I do. Try not to bomb too badly Leclerc. It would be such a shame to see you have to go back to slumming it with we humble soloists,” the Dutchman sneered. His tone made it clear he’d like nothing more than to see Charles demoted. </p><p>“Max leave him alone.” Daniel turned around from where he’d been composing a text on his phone and gave Max a look.</p><p>Max grinned wider. Charles thought it gave him a disturbing similarity to a jackal “How about you make me? Max stroked one finger down Daniel’s face. </p><p>Daniel pulled away shaking his head. “Would you stop being an ass?”</p><p>“Oh, but I thought you loved my ass. “I distinctly remember you saying that last week while-“</p><p>Charles' eyes widened at Max’s insinuations. It wasn’t scandalous for dancers to sleep with each other. Far from it. But very few not in an exclusive relationship ever talked so openly about it, especially when the Artistic Director was in the room </p><p>“Max.” Daniel’s tone was dark. It gave Charles a weird feeling in his stomach. “Stop.”</p><p>The blonde rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He slung his orange sweatshirt over his shoulder. “I’ll text you, Dan. See you later princess.”</p><p>Daniel shook his head as he watched Max’s departing figure. “Don’t let him get in your head.”</p><p>Charles sighed and started picking at his thumb. “I swear he wasn’t that bad when I was a soloist.”</p><p>Daniel grabbed Charles' hand. “Stop that. You’ll hurt yourself.” His voice became quite low and serious and he didn’t let go as he continued. “He wasn’t “that bad” as you say, because he wasn’t jealous then. You’re a Principal now. And everyone wants what we have.” Daniel let Charles hand drop. “I think Alain wants you.” Charles glanced over his shoulder and saw their Artistic Director was waiting patiently, or was it impatiently? Charles never could read the esteemed French man. “See you around, Sunshine” Daniel gave him one last dazzling grin and then departed. Leaving Charles alone with Alain Prost. Suddenly the stage felt very very big. Just as the stairs had that morning. Had he already messed up on his very first day? Was Max going to get his wish? What was he supposed to tell his mum? </p><p>The AD seemed to notice his uneasiness and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “You’re not in trouble Charles.” Charles let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I just wanted to let you know that I and the board have every faith in you. We wouldn’t have chosen Giselle if we didn’t believe we had a dancer capable of doing the role justice. And you, mon étoile, are more than capable. LSS is lucky to have you.”</p><p>For what felt like the hundredth time of the day, Charles was thrown off kilter. To have the great Alain Prost lauding his abilities when he hadn’t even danced a step as Principal yet—it was one of the greatest feelings in the world. </p><p>“I’ll make you proud, Sir.”</p><p><em>“I promise I will make them proud mama.”</em> <span class="apple-converted-space">  </span></p><p>Alain smiled. “Of that, I have no doubt.”</p><p><em>“Oh my petit prince we already are.”</em> <span class="apple-converted-space">  </span></p><p>“Now shoo! Go eat lunch. I can’t have my shining star go hungry.”</p><p>Charles gave a respectful nod and quickly gathered his things and left the theater. </p><p>Where he was immediately ambushed by three over excited dancers.</p><p>“What did Prost want?”</p><p>“Are you excited about<em>Giselle</em>?”</p><p>“What did Max say to you?</p><p>Charles laughed as he was half dragged, half pushed down the hallway by the trio. “Woah, guys. Calm down. Max was just giving me some shit about being a Principal. And Prost delivered the board’s congratulations. Not a big deal.”</p><p>“Daniel Ricciardo seemed very interested in you.” Lando waggled his eyebrows. “Is Mr. Australia trying to seduce you already?”</p><p>“Hardly.” Charles scoffed. “Actually… Did you guys know he and Max were a thing?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t call occasionally hooking up, a thing Charles,” George replied. “But yes, I did know that.”</p><p>“You still haven’t told us your thoughts on the production choice Charles,” Alex reminded him as the four of them entered the dining terrace of LSS “Are you excited?”</p><p>Charles immediately felt multiple pairs of eyes on him and was suddenly very grateful to the trio for waiting for him. “Let’s sit down and then I’ll tell you.”</p><p>“Works for me!” Lando said cheerily, making a beeline for a table by the big glass windows that overlooked the courtyard.  “I’m hungry anyway.”</p><p>“I wish it was anything else,” admitted Charles once they were all seated and had their lunches out. “The board must be out of their mind.”</p><p>“Dude, what?!’ Lando blurted out, voice muffled by the sandwich he was in the process of eating. </p><p>George looked at Charles in surprise. “Mate, any principal dancer would kill to play that role.”</p><p>“Not if it was their debut as principal,” Charles replied.</p><p>“If they didn’t think you could do it, they wouldn’t have picked<em>Giselle,</em>” Alex said, taking a break from his chicken and vegetable stir fry to join the conversation. </p><p>“That’s what Alain said. But I’m still nervous.” Charles shrugged. “I never really enjoyed the music, but the costumes will be fun.”</p><p>Lando nodded in agreement. “Oh, for sure. Hamilton’s going to have a lot of fun with the willis stuff. I bet Valtteri will look terrifying as Myrtha.”</p><p>Charles stared down at his salad, spearing a few leaves on his fork. Gradually, the trio’s voices faded into the background as he retreated back inside his head. </p><p>It was times like this that he wished he could call Jules. His godfather had always given him the best advice, getting him through his darkest days at the academy. Now of course, that wasn’t an option. All because of a freak car crash. </p><p>“You ok, Charles?” Alex grabbed his hand with his own; the Thai dancer’s brow furrowed in concern. </p><p>“Yes I’m fine.” Charles gave a tight smile. He was sure it wasn’t convincing, but none of them pushed him on it. “I think I’ll head to a studio. Need to practice some turns.” That was complete bullshit. Everyone and their mother knew Charles' turning ability was second to none. He scooted his chair back hastily, wincing at the sharp screech, and walked quickly away, trying to calm his increasingly erratic breathing.</p><p>He took the opportunity to scan the room while scraping the last of his salad into the bin. Pierre and Dany were talking animatedly with Lance and Esteban, Carlos and Fernando were chatting in the corner, and Sebastian appeared to be complaining to Daniel, who, in Charles’ opinion, looked quite uninterested. Charles must have stared for a beat too long, because the Australian glanced over and caught his eye and gave him a bright smile. Sebastian did nothing. The German just looked at him, his icy blue eyes cutting into Charles. Charles gave a cautious wave and made a hasty retreat, not wanting to further upset the man he’d so recently replaced. </p><p>The halls of LSS were, thankfully, empty on his way to the practice studio. Charles slammed the door shut as soon as he got inside and immediately started scrolling through his long playlist of instrumental pieces. Finally, he settled on one from<em>Nocturnal Animals</em>, because Abel Korzeniowski was a genius and not every song worth dancing to was from a ballet. Charles always enjoyed a good film piece. There was a richness, a depth, to the scores that he thought classic ballet too often lacked. </p><p>After a quick stretch and warmup, Charles let himself get lost in the music. He spun across the floor in a series of tight chaînés and piqués, before ending with fouettés. The whole time the strings of the music soared underneath him while the song played on loop. Throwing restraint and technique to the wind, he ran across the floor as the percussion built into a crescendo and launched himself into the air, arms outstretched, head thrown back. For a moment Charles truly felt like he could fly. In those few seconds he’d broken free from the bounds of gravity and the weight of expectations and had simply soared. Before of course, he was forced back down again. </p><p>After a few more run throughs, Charles could feel himself beginning to tire. Not wanting to wear himself out too much the day before their first morning class of the season, he decided to call it for the day. Charles pulled a granola bar from his bag as he packed things back up. He hadn’t had much to eat at lunch and his stomach was growling. </p><p>Shouldering his duffel bag, he pushed the studio door open. When he stepped into the hallway, he heard the sound of voices getting louder. Not wanting to deal with any more people, Charles stepped into the shadows behind one of the many pillars that lined LSS’s halls. Hopefully whoever it was would pass quickly. </p><p>Sure enough the group got progressively closer until he saw three people round the corner. Three very important people. </p><p>Toto Wolff, Christian Horner, and Mattia Binotto, the Executive Board of LSS were casually talking. Which was a surprise in and of itself, considering more times than not, at least one was bickering with another. </p><p>“-Rosberg is excited to work with him.” Mattia’s voice came into focus.</p><p>“Anyone would be.” And that was Toto. Charles could see his imposing figure. “Look how he’s developed. Charles has some of the best extensions I’ve ever seen.” Charles' heart did a little flip at the praise. “Now that the last of his baby fat has melted off you can appreciate them even better; he really is every choreographer’s dream.” </p><p>Charles' heart quickly sunk back down from where it had just leapt. He couldn’t get Toto’s comment out of his head. Had he been too heavy as a soloist? Was he still too heavy now? No, he couldn’t be. Toto had said all his fat was gone. </p><p>“Not just a choreographer’s dream.” Charles heard Christian laugh. “Just wait till Hamilton gets his hands on him. I know he’s already drawn up sketches, and he hasn’t even met with Rosberg yet.”</p><p>Charles thought he might be sick. What if his measurements didn’t work with Lewis Hamilton’s designs? He knew his shoulders had always been broader than the rest of him. And he knew his arms had gotten slightly bigger due to increased time in the gym. Romain, LSS’s resident physiotherapist, had suggested Charles build up his strength at the end of last season. At first, Charles had been proud of the increased muscle tone. But now he was worried. What if he looked bulky on stage? Giselle was supposed to be the delicate village belle. He couldn’t look like a fool in his debut as principal. He just couldn’t. </p><p>Charles glanced down at the granola bar still clutched on his hand as the board members passed. Suddenly the nutritional content took on a whole different light. He didn’t really need it for a snack. Yes, his stomach was growling. But he’d have dinner in a few hours. In fact he didn’t really need granola bars at all. He’d cut them out during his time at Prima Academy, along with a variety of other grains. There was no reason he couldn’t do it again. </p><p>Deeming the coast clear, Charles stepped out from his hiding place and trotted quickly down the stairs. All things considered; it had been a good first day. Not only had the Alain Prost pledged his support of him but so had the executive board. It was absolutely thrilling. </p><p>And if he found the soft plop of the granola bar as it hit the bottom of the bin when he tossed it while exiting LSS, equally as satisfying? Well, that was nobody’s business but his own.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And so it begins!<br/>You guys have no idea what you're in for :)<br/>(Except for the few that have seen my storyboards...)</p><p>I'll probably post every week or so. (Comments make me write faster. Just saying...)</p><p>Shoutout to sheswanderlust for indulging my ramblings and sending me inspiration. I couldn't do this mammoth project without you. </p><p>Come yell at me on Tumblr: special-formula</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. pretend for a night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm going to start putting several of the songs that inspired me for each chapter. Listen to Lonely by Noah Cyrus to get a better idea of Charles' mindset and Medium Allegro Etudes by Christopher Hobson if you want to hear the song I listened to on loop while writing Nico's combination.<br/>Hope you guys like the chapter...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The pounding of his feet on the pavement and the pulse of the music in his ears matches the beating of Charles' heart as he finished the last leg of his morning run. Geneva was just beginning to come alive; cars starting to fill the streets and shop owners flipping their signs from open to closed. Charles could smell the scent of fresh pastries wafting through the air. The smell was mouthwatering. Charles couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d had one. His stomach gave out a low gurgle. Clearly it was time to be getting back to his apartment. Wiping the sweat off his brow, Charles picked up the pace and soon saw his apartment come into view. Upon arrival, Charles forewent the elevator, instead electing for the stairs. It had become so much of a routine that the five flights up didn’t make him blink an eye, even after his long morning jog. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles let out a sigh of relief as soon as he got inside his flat and immediately flopped down on the sofa, toeing off his shoes. Charles allowed himself a minute to regain his breath while he flipped through his Spotify, trying to decide on what to play. As much as he’d like to just lay on the plush white cushions forever, he knew he needed to finish getting ready for the day. Eventually he decided on one of the many relaxing morning playlists, maybe it would help calm his nerves, and pushed himself up off the couch. Showering seems silly, he’ll be a sweaty mess after morning class, but he could never bear the idea of showing up unkempt. He’d done it a few times while in the corps, and just once as a soloist. But now he was a principal. Literally the face of the company. The least he can do is shampoo his hair. Charles does just that, allowing himself to relax under the stream of hot water for a moment. After the death of his father, his mother had insisted he go see a therapist. Though Charles had found much of what they’d had to say rather banal, one tidbit had always stuck with him: wash the worries down the drain. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “I wake up and even though they aren't here I can still feel their expectations, like a weight on my shoulders.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “I want you to try something for me Charles. Whenever you shower, I want you to close your eyes. Imagine the water isn't just washing dirt away, but also all that stress and anxiety we’ve talked about. You’ll always carry the grief with you Charles, I won’t lie to you. But that doesn’t mean you must suffer everyday. They wouldn’t want you too.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ever since then Charles has started mornings with his shower routine, Dr. Vasseur’s words ringing in his ears. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once he felt sufficiently clean and a modicum more relaxed, Charles shut off the water and stepped out. He gave his hair a quick towel dry and wrapped himself up in his robe before throwing on a bit of aftershave. The wood floor felt pleasantly cool against his feet as he walked into the kitchen to prepare his traditional morning fare of yogurt and fruit with tea. The soft tones of Coldplay filled his apartment as he busied himself cutting up strawberries to mix in with his yogurt. Before he knew it, the kettle was ready, and Charles dropped a teabag in before he walked off to get dressed.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Charles pulled on his dance wear, stopping for a moment to look at himself in the mirror, then chose a matching pair of sweats, both the hoodie and joggers a dark navy. He gave his dance bag a quick scan making sure he had everything he needed. </p>
<p>Deodorant? Check. Extra clothes? Check? Towel? Check. Resistance bands? Check. His medical bag? Check. Notebooks? No. Where were they? Charles always kept two notebooks. One for choreography notes, the other to track his diet and plan his meals. Maybe he’d left them in the kitchen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sure enough, as soon as Charles returned to his kitchen he saw the two books sitting on the edge of the counter. Relieved to have located them, Charles picked up his tea. The drink had cooled to a point where he was no longer at risk of burning his taste buds off, and now the mug gave off a comforting warmth in his hands. Charles leaned back against the counter, soaking in the early fall sunshine that poured in through the windows. As he sipped his tea, Charles let his gaze wander from one corner of the room to the other. He’d always loved how his apartment looked in the morning. The bright white colour scheme felt clean and crisp, yet somehow still welcoming. Like a freshly made bed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The journey to La Societe Susie was uneventful but as soon as Charles opened the door to the studio he realized he wasn’t quite sure at which barre to stand. For the life of him, Charles couldn’t remember if each principal had their own barre. When he was a soloist he, Dany, Pierre, and Max had split up over two. Valtteri was at the front, most center barre, sitting in straddle while sipping coffee. Should he join him? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Morning Sunshine.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daniel’s voice behind him nearly made Charles jump out of his skin. He hadn’t realized he’d just been standing in front of the door. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daniel laughed. “Wow you must have been really lost in your head. I didn’t mean to scare you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, no. You didn’t scare me, it’s ok.” Charles could feel his face flushing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daniel merely chuckled and walked further into the room. “Coming?” He turned over one shoulder to look at Charles. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Feeling a bit like a child, Charles pulled his bag closer to his side and followed Daniel to the front barre. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Best seat in the house.” Daniel spread his arms, the grin on his face still bright as ever. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes. If you enjoy Jenson pulling and prodding you like you’re a show horse” Vatteril chimed in, getting up to join them.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well I wouldn’t mind taking a few of the cowboys in here for a ride. If you know what I mean.” Daniel grinned salaciously, leaning over the barre. “Interested Val?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh keep your hands to yourself you flirt,” Valtteri pushed Dan’s forehead back, a small smile crossing his features. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh you cruel man. I’m heartbroken,” Daniel gasped over dramatically. He stumbled backwards, clutching at his heart, straight into Charles who let out a soft oof as he instinctively caught Daniel in his arms. “Oh my hero.” Daniel spun around and grabbed Charles, lifting him into the air effortlessly. “How can I ever repay you?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can start by putting our newest principal down, Mr. Ricciardo. I would appreciate you not breaking him on the first day.” </p>
<p>Jenson Button had arrived, Nico Rosberg in tow. Their ballet master walked over and looked up at Charles. “You’ll have plenty of time to twirl him around later.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> Daniel laughed, he did that a lot, Charles had noticed.  “Ok Jenson. But I’ll hold you to that.” He placed Charles back down on the ground with an unexpected gentleness. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles' head was spinning. He felt like he’d just done 4 pirouettes without spotting. Someone wolf whistled in the back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Quiet!” Jenson pressed play on the music. The ballet master began to take them through their barre routine. Charles let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. This was familiar. He let himself block out all other distractions and focus on the eight counts in his head. With every plie and tendu he could feel himself falling into the comfortable routine. As they entered into the ronde jambe en l’air Jenson began his prowl around the studio fixing various dancers' posture and technique. Charles' stomach released the last of its nerves when Jenson passed by and gave him an approving nod. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once they’d finished with grande battements, Jenson stopped the music and came back to the front of the room. “As you know Nico Rosberg, your choreographer, is here to observe the class today.” Charles thought that Jenson looked less than thrilled about that. “He’ll be making his decisions on the few remaining roles based on what he all sees today. Including Hilarion.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Murmurs swept through the classroom. Hilarion. It was a big opportunity. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nico Rosberg walked to the front to stand by Jenson. Charles hadn’t even noticed him waiting in the corner by the door. Though dressed in simple grey pants and a blue v neck, Nico emitted a commanding presence, his eyes sweeping critically over the room. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve prepared a short floor combination for you. You’ll go in pairs rather than your usual groups.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As soon as Nico started to recite the combination members of the company began to mark the steps. The tension was palpable in the air. But, Charles was actually surprised at the simplicity of the steps. Which could only mean that Nico was looking closely at technique. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was proven right as the choreographer began to yell critiques over the music. “Extend that leg, Sainz! Norris, get up in that releve. Vertsappen, where is your turnout!?” Charles saw Max scowl when he was called out. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once they’d all crossed the floor, Nico stopped the music, crossing his arms disapprovingly. “Again! And this time with some energy. Only the second act of Giselle takes place in the land of the dead. I want to see some life.” He pressed play. “Higher jumps! Point those toes. Bigger jumps! Come on!! Yes Daniil good.” Charles saw Daniel’s face erupt into a smile at the praise, a smile Charles is sure he mirrored when Nico praises his own cabriole jump.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By their fifth run through, Charles could see his fellow dancers start to flag. The combination wasn’t long but it was quick, and highly technical. Finally, Jenson stepped in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> “All right Rosberg, I prefer you don’t destroy their legs before rehearsals even start.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just building endurance Jenson.” Nico smiled, sickly sweet.  “But, I've seen what I needed to. The cast list will be up by the end of lunch.” He scanned the room one more time, hands on his hips, before exiting, the doors slamming noisily behind him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jenson rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the dancers. “Always one for the dramatics, is Rosberg. I’ll give you a ten minute water break because I’m not cruel.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’d argue that’s up for debate” muttered George as he sat down next to Charles. “Someone needs to tell Button my joints aren't made of jelly.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles laughed “I bet you anything we’re practicing jumps next.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alex groaned and flopped down on the floor next to Charles “I won’t be able to walk tomorrow if that’s true. It’s like he’s trying to ruin our weekend.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George side eyed their ballet master. “Knowing him, he probably is...Speaking of the weekend, we’re throwing a party tonight to celebrate the start of the season. You should stop by, Charlie.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I-I don’t know George. Are you sure it won’t be awkward, with me being a Principal now?” Charles had enjoyed the trio’s parties in the past, but he didn’t remember ever seeing one of the principals there. Well maybe Daniel, once or twice. But still. And the Australian had always left pretty quickly, more often than not with another company member in tow. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>George rolled his eyes. “Mate, just because Val doesn’t go out and Daniel’s too busy with his hookup of the week doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself. Alex, back me up here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Thai dancer laid a steady hand on Charles' leg. “We’d miss you if you didn’t come. Besides,” Alex smirked, “Who’s going to help me stop Lando from drunkenly posting to social media. You know that’s at least a three person job.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles couldn’t help but chuckle. Alex wasn’t wrong. It normally took George and Alex holding him down while Charles removed Lando’s phone from his reach. The shorter dancer may bitch and moan about it, but after posting a rather provocative picture to his instagram story meant for a certain Spainard, even he agreed that it was better for everyone involved that alcohol and internet access didn’t mix.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rest of the morning passed by in a blur. Charles had enjoyed his summer break, but nothing compared to the feeling he got after not dancing for a bit. It was like his soul was coming home. By the end of morning classes his legs ached and he was covered in sweat, but even the exhaustion couldn’t dull his joy. He felt as if he was walking on air. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even the thought of lunch, however, weighed him down. With his friends’ attention diverted by their speculation of the final cast list, Charles snuck off to one of the upper floors of LSS. He’d come back down at the end of lunch once Nico posted the list. But for the moment, he wanted some time to himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles had always loved the interior of LSS. The grand old historical building still retained its charm but recent renovations gave it an elegant, modern vibe. Many times old theaters and opera houses could feel dated, heavy, and even creepy. But with LSS’s stunning courtyard, bright open, studios, and spacious hallways, nobody could ever call it anything but magnificent. Sitting on top of a slight hill, the opera house glimmered — a bright jewel in Geneva’s crown. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles amused himself, wandering the halls, and soaking in the sunlight. If ballet hadn’t worked out he’d planned to go to school for architecture. Thankfully, Prima Academy had snapped him up during one of their scouting sessions, and well, the rest was history. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles was just rounding the corner to descend the stairs towards the dining terrace when he came face to face with Nico Rosberg, stopping sharply to avoid colliding with the choreographer. Nico arched a meticulously manicured eyebrow. “Did they send you up to hunt down this?” He waved a piece of paper that Charles could only assume to be the cast list. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I-err, No.” Charles backed up a few steps, making room for Nico to go down the stairs. “I was actually just heading down too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well in that case,” Nico leaned forward, lowering his voice. “How’d you like a sneak peak?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh.” Charles hadn’t really expected that. “Are you sure?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nico gave him a look. “I <em>am</em> the choreographer, Charles. I highly doubt Alain’s going to have my head for sharing it a few minutes later with a Principal. Especially you. Here.” He held out the paper. “Take a look.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hesitantly Charles reached out and grabbed the list, careful not to crease it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>Giselle- Charles Leclerc</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>Albrecht- Daniel Ricciardo</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>Myrtha- Valtteri Bottas</em> </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>Hilarion- Daniil Kvyat</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>Bathilde- Max Verstappen</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>Berthe- Sebastian Vettel</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>Duke of Courland- Fernando Alonso</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>Wilfred- Antonio Giovinazzi </em> </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>Peasant Pas de Deux- Pierre Gasly, Alex Albon </em> </strong>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Charles tried to keep his face as passive as possible, but he couldn’t help but smile slightly when he saw Alex’s name at the end. “Thank you.” He handed the list back to Nico who was looking at him with a sly smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course. I’ll see you Monday,” Nico called over his shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles decided to wait a few minutes before following Nico down. He didn’t need rumours starting already. It gave him time to properly absorb the casting decisions. He had to admit he'd been a bit surprised to see that Daniil had pipped Max to Hilarion. And working with Sebastian Vettel was going to be interesting to say the least. Company gossip had it that the German had put up quite a fight about being moved to the Character Artist designation. Esteban swore that he’d heard Sebastian in a heated argument with the board behind closed doors. The Frenchman was a notorious gossip, but he was seldom wrong—a dangerous combination. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then there was Alex. Finally, he was getting the recognition he deserved. Charles was elated, it could signify a chance for his friend to be moved to soloist. Although, he conceded, Antonio was a strong contender too. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles could hear commotion one floor down which could only mean that the list was up. Galloping down the stairs, he descended into the fray of excited dancers, pushing through the crowd until he found Alex.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Congratulations, mate!’ Charles immediately enveloped his friend in a hug. “You deserve it so much.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I didn’t even think he was considering me.” Alex was smiling ear to ear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Rosberg would be crazy not too.” George clapped a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Oh there you are, Charles. We were wondering where you’d run off to.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh nevermind that! We have a party to prepare for!” Lando bounced excitedly. “Now you have to come, Charles.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“OK…but only because Alex secured a solo,” Charles conceded.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck yeah!’ George punched him in the arm, the tall Brit was beaming. “Come on Lando. We have an apartment to go clean.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alex chuckled. “I should probably go make sure they don’t burn down the kitchen. I’ll see you later.” The thai dancer gave Charles one last hug before following his two flatmates. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles tried to work his way out of the crown but soon found himself on the receiving end of congratulatory greetings and pats on the back. He tried to be gracious, giving a smile to anyone who looked his way, but all he really wanted to do was get out of the mass of bodies. It was all a bit overwhelming and there was an uncomfortable ringing in his ears that was only growing louder. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Welcome to the big leagues.” Charles should have been alarmed when two hands settled on his shoulders from behind, but the telltale Australian accent immediately soothed his nerves. “You heading out?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles turned around, finding comfort in the shadow of Daniel. The company members gave the older principal more space and Charles no longer felt at risk of suffocating under a wave of well-meaning gestures. “I’m trying to but...” he gestured at the congested area. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ahh.” Daniel nodded knowingly. “Have you considered an alternate route?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles gave him a look that quite clearly communicated that he had not. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daniel grinned and grabbed Charles' wrist, pulling him back in towards the dining terrace. “Come young padawan, you have much to learn.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wordlessly he followed Daniel until they stopped in front of the fire exit door. Charles looked at Daniel skeptically.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh don’t worry. It’s not rigged to go off. Pinky promise.” Daniel held out his finger.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles was still wary, but hooked his finger around Daniel’s.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can trust me.” Daniel’s tone became more serious. “Here, I’ll show you.” He leaned against the door, his finger still locked with Charles. As promised, the door swung open with nary a peep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles peered down the stairs. “Thank you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t mention it,” Daniel said. “That’ll drop you in the courtyard so just wind around the building. Catch ya later, Sunshine” He ruffled Charles' hair once before returning back inside LSS, the door closing quietly behind him.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles’ walk back to the tram station and the subsequent ride was a bit of a blur. Daniel seemed to have that effect on him. When he wasn’t giving Charles a scare by sneaking up behind him, that is. Charles felt his heart flutter at the thought of the Australian but squashed it down. There was no point dwelling on things that would never be. That only led to heartbreak. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sun was just beginning to properly dip in the sky when Charles arrived back home, long shadows falling across his path. Once again forgoing the elevator, he opened up the door to his flat and went straight for the kitchen to brew another cup of tea. While he waited, he dug out a blueberry container from his sparsely populated fridge. His stomach growled voraciously, not satisfied with the few berries he’d popped in his mouth. Charles resolutely ignored it, instead going to his closet to decide on what to wear. After several minutes of agonizing over the shade of jeans, he decided to text Alex.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Feeling a bit better after the conversation, Charles decided on dark jeans, v neck, and leather jacket. Simple. Not ostentatious. The less attention he drew to himself at the party the better. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As he was already late, Charles hailed a cab. Less than ten minutes later he was outside the trio’s flat. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles climbed the three flights quickly. Just before he pushed the door open, he took a deep breath, bracing himself for the inevitable onslaught. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The wave of sound that greeted him nearly knocked Charles back a few steps. Music was blasting with dancers yelling and laughing overtop of it. Not for the first time Charles wondered how the trio’s neighbors hadn’t murdered them yet. Charles quickly spotted Lando in conversation with Dany and Pierre, and made his way over, nearly colliding with Lance who was guiding a giggly, drunk Esteban towards the couch. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well if it isn't Mr. Principal, himself. We had a bet running on if you would show.” George appeared out of the kitchen and joined Charles. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Speaking of, you owe me 5 francs” Lando smirked, walking up to them, hand outstretched towards George.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The taller brit rolled his eyes good naturedly, and dug out his wallet, pressing a note into Lando’s palm. “Glad to see you here Charles.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles had been taking in the room, noting different dancers, when a certain head of dirty blonde hair caught his eye. Max Verstappen was sitting at the kitchen island, chatting away with Nico Hulkenberg. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s he doing here” Charles looked at George, frowning.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>George shrugged. “ We invited the whole company. Just...try to play nice.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s not me that’s the problem,” Charles muttered. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Now come on. Everyone wants to see you.” George looped his arm through Charles’ tugged him toward a group of dancer’s including Alex and Carlos. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Two drinks and a period of never ending small talk with company members later, Charles needed a break. Excusing himself, he walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water, and, hopefully, some quiet. He hadn’t had much to drink but his head still felt a bit fuzzy. He’d hoped to save a few calories, having skipped dinner, but he was coming to regret that decision. Charles closed his eyes and leaned back against the fridge, taking a moment. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well if it isn’t the princess.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles' shoulders tensed when he heard the dutch accent. “I’m not really in the mood Max.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Aww not enjoying the party sweet heart?” The last words were slurred. Clearly Max had more than imbibed. The Dutch dancer fell back against the fridge, his shoulder brushing Charles’. “So... How’s life at the top?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles side eyed Max. The soloist must really be drunk if he was actually attempting to be civil. “Bit stressful” Charles decided a half truth was better than nothing. He wasn’t going to spill his guts to Max Vertappen after a drink or two.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> “Oh please.” Max rolled his eyes and took a long pull from his drink. “Everyone loves you. Dan won’t shut up about you.” The Dutchman scowled and went to take another sip.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles doesn’t know why he does it, but he reached out and grabbed Max’s wrist, stopping him. “Maybe you should have some water.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Max merely rolled his eyes. “God you’re such a prude.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles frowned, irritated. “I am not.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh yeah?” Max turned and placed a hand on the fridge, boxing Charles in. “Prove it” Max set the bottle down on the counter and traced a finger along Charles' jaw and down his sternum, fingers clenching in Charles' shirt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> “Max, I-“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What? You scared princess?” The Dutchman leaned in. Lips almost touching Charles. “Dan must see you as a real challenge.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles felt frozen as Max purred into his ear. “Shut up, Verstappen.” Charles' voice was barely a whisper.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> “Mmmm. Make me.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something inside Charles snaps. Maybe it’s the pain in his back from being pressed against the fridge. Maybe it’s Max nipping his ear. Maybe it’s the pressure of the week finally needing an outlet. Maybe he just wanted Max to stop running his mouth. Whatever it is, it has him leaning into Max’s grip and pressing his lips to the blonde’s. Max for his part, goes along with it. The dancer reaches down and grabs Charles' hip, pulling him tight against him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Soon tongues are tangling and fingers fumbling. Charles feels as if he’s in a daze as Max bites down his neck. There were so many reasons he shouldn’t be doing this. First and foremost it was going to complicate his and Max’s relationship even more. But fuck. It had been a bit since he’d had a good makeout sesh. And the feeling of Max pressed against him? Yeah it was sexy. It was hot. It was—cold?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The world came back into focus as the cold of the fridge on Charles' back ran down his spine. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Max had somehow managed to work his shirt halfway up his back, leaving Charles lower midriff exposed. Feeling embarrassed he pushed Max off him with a bit more force than necessary. The drunk dancer stumbled backward, hair mussed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I uhh-I think I better be heading out.” Charles felt flustered, thrown off kilter. Infuriatingly, Max looked as unperturbed as ever, even with his swollen lips. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Aww you’re no fun.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles' immediate instinct was to apologize, but he bit his tongue and instead turned to leave.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I never got to see what else that mouth could do”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles jumped as he felt a hand grab his ass and Max’s hand wind tightly around his waist. And suddenly it didn’t feel hot or fun anymore. He just felt cheap. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No. Just-Stop, Max.” He pried Max’s fingers off. “I’m going home.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Max backed off with a huff, lips pursed in a way that Charles thought made him look remarkably like a frog. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Should have known you only give it up for the bosses. Is that what you and Rosberg were up to during lunch?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Max’s voice cuts right to the bone. Charles had heard the rumors. He knew what some of the company whispered behind his back. And he also knew that if he ignored it they would eventually die out. Resisting the urge to give Max the finger, he strode out of the kitchen to go find Alex. All he wanted to do was bolt out of the trio’s flat, but the least he could do is congratulate Alex one more time before leaving. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles soon found his friend in a group of tipsy driver’s huddled around Pierre, the Frenchman showing them a video on his phone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m heading out.” Charles tapped Alex on the shoulder to get his attention.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Already? I’ve barely seen you.” Alex’s brow furrowed. “Is everything alright Charles?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, I’m just tired.” Charles gave a fake laugh. “But you enjoy yourself, and keep an eye on Lando. I’ll see you later.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gave Alex one last hug and then snatched up his jacket from where he’d left it on a chair, pulling it tightly around him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles really should have called a cab, or even taken the tram. But he desperately needed to clear his head. And what better way to do that than with a long walk back to his apartment late at night. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As soon as Charles made it back to his apartment, he pulled off his jeans and shirt before collapsing onto his bed. He had just enough of his wits about him to send Alex a text letting him know he’d made it home safe. He was sure his friend would have questions about what took him so long, Alex was nothing if not perceptive. But those were problems for later. For now, Charles needed to sleep. </p>
<p><br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>....Thoughts?? ;)<br/>In all seriousness I hope you all liked the chapter and can see the world and characters starting to take shape. I"d say the next chapter is really the last 'establishing' chapter, if you will, so buckle up. The road is long and bumpy...<br/>Come yell at me on tumblr: special-formula</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. the self is not so weightless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the trio had suggested a group gym session before their physicals, Charles had eagerly accepted. But now he was starting to regret his decision. It was early in the morning Monday. Lando and George should not be this chatty at the hour. Nobody should. The two were over on the bikes and were talking up a storm. Alex, was mercifully silent, and had joined Charles in a series of side planks and rotations. </p><p> </p><p>“How was the rest of your weekend Charles?” George’s voice carried easily through LSS’s gym, bouncing off the walls. </p><p> </p><p>Charles winced. He’d woken up with a headache. The lack of caffeine coupled with intense exercise wasn’t helping. “Fine,” he responded, voice a bit shaky as he attempted to lift his top leg. “Pretty boring.” </p><p> </p><p>It was the truth. Sort of. After the run-in with Max, Charles hadn’t been able to shake the slightly queasy feeling that had hung over him like a rain cloud. Consequently, the majority of his Saturday was spent laying in bed, his mind oscillating between considering eating, calling his friends, or his mother. On Sunday Charles had gone out for a run. A rather stupid decision in hindsight. He’d only made it half a mile before the lightheadedness was too much. His brunch of an omelette and a singular piece of whole grain toast had never tasted so good. </p><p> </p><p>“Did something happen at the party?” Alex asked quietly before collapsing out of the plank he’d been holding. </p><p> </p><p>“Umm-Can we maybe talk later?” That was really not a conversation Charles wanted to have where anyone could walk in. He started a series of Russian twists, looking down at his friend with pleading eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course.” Alex nodded before turning towards the other two dancers. “Hey! When did Romain schedule your physicals?”</p><p> </p><p>“Lando and I are back to back almost first thing. We’re gonna head up in a few.” George hopped off the bike, wiping sweat from his brow. “What about you?”</p><p> </p><p>Alex let out a sigh of irritation. “I’m not for another few hours. Might go grab something from the cafe. Want to come Charles?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm-what? Sorry I wasn’t listening.” Charles looked over from where he’d been studying himself in the mirror. There was a little fat right at the bottom of his ribs that made its presence known when he sat. It had been bugging him. Romain had told him that it was natural and was there to protect his organs. But he wasn’t convinced. </p><p> </p><p>“I just asked if you wanted to get something to eat with me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh no that’s okay.” Charles turned back towards the mirror, frowning slightly. “I think I’ll stay here a bit longer. Got to be ready for my physical.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mate, if you’re not ready. The rest of us are screwed,” Lando said while packing up his stuff. </p><p> </p><p>Charles hummed noncommittally. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll be on the third floor if you want to find me.” Alex lay a hand on Charles' shoulder before exiting the gym with George and Lando. </p><p> </p><p>And just like that, Charles was alone with his thoughts. Ignoring the pounding in his head he hopped on the treadmill. He’d just run a quick 5k then hop in the shower. </p><p> </p><p>The rhythm of his pounding feet is comforting and Charles soon loses himself in the ache of his legs and burning of his lungs. Maybe it was a bit masochistic. But so was ballet.</p><p> </p><p>Sufficiently exhausted and sweaty, Charles took a swig from his bottle and grabbed his bag, ready for a good shower. Daniil Kvyat was entering the gym just as Charles was exiting. Charles gave him a quick nod but didn’t stay to talk, too exhausted. </p><p> </p><p>With nowhere else to be, Charles didn’t have to rush in the shower. The extra time underneath the hot stream was much needed. By the time he was dried off and redressed he felt significantly better. Although he was still craving his normal morning tea. But that could be sorted later. Now he had to get up to the fourth floor for his physical check up. Which started in 10 minutes. Damn. He’d been in the shower longer than he thought.</p><p> </p><p>After rushing up the several flights of stairs in record time, Charles arrived outside the entrance to the medical wing slightly out of breath. He needn’t have hurried. Romain was running late. Unfortunately, although the delay gave him time to collect his thoughts, it also meant the anxiety about the physical began to swirl in his gut. Charles sat down on the floor, fingers clenched tightly into the fabric of his bag. He tried to do a few deep breathing exercises but didn’t have much success. It was probably good he hadn’t eaten anything yet, because Charles wasn’t sure he could have kept it down. Time ticked by in slow motion until, finally, the door opened and LSS’s physiotherapist peaked his head out. </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry to keep you waiting, Charles” The Frenchman smiled apologetically. </p><p> </p><p>“Pas probleme” Charles scrambled to his feet but had to shoot out a hand to catch himself against the wall when his vision went dark around the edges. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you alright?” Although Charles couldn’t see Romain, he could hear the concern in his voice. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes. Yes. Just stood up too quickly.” Charles smiled in what he hoped was a convincing manner. “I’m ready.”</p><p> </p><p>Romain gave him a critical side-eye but opened the door wider, ushering him inside. </p><p>Charles hopped up on the examination table. He knew the drill by now. Physical checks always went in the same order: flexibility measurements, joint and muscle checks, and then finally the weigh-in. </p><p> </p><p>The first two go seamlessly, and the conversation flows easily between the two of them, punctuated by hums of approval by Romain as he runs through his checklist. However, when Charles steps on the scale, the Frenchman frowned, jotting down the number quickly.</p><p> </p><p>“Is-Is something wrong?” Charles tried to keep his voice even, but felt like the world was sliding out from underneath him. He’d worked so hard to keep his weight down while also gaining muscle. Had it not been enough? Oh god, he had his first meeting with Lewis in just under a month. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Now that the last of his baby fat has melted off you can appreciate them even better; he really is every choreographer’s dream."</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Just wait till Hamilton gets his hands on him. I know he’s already drawn up sketches, and he hasn’t even met with Rosberg yet.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Romain took a moment before answering. “You’ve gained more muscle. Which is good. We talked about that at the end of last season. But-” Romain paused again. He seemed to be picking his words carefully. “But your weight hasn’t risen in the way I would have expected. I’m sure you’re under quite a bit of stress right now, it being your first season as Principal. But make sure you’re eating enough. I don’t want to see you get injured.”</p><p> </p><p>Charles nodded along, trying to reassure Romain. Secretly though, he was pleased. All the hard work hadn’t been for nothing. He was stronger, yet still light and limber. A titanium feather. </p><p> </p><p>Eventually, the Frenchman let him go, but not without one last warning. Charles ignored the curious look he got from the other dancers waiting to be seen, and made his way back down stairs toward one of the main studios where Nico would be walking them through his vision of the show.  </p><p> </p><p>He was one of the first to arrive, only a few other dancers milling about. He quietly settled down on the ground in front. The studio was quite chilly in Charles' opinion. He dug around in his bag for his sweatshirt but came up empty handed. Shit, he must have left it at Romain’s. Goosebumps rippled across his skin and Charles crossed his arms tightly, trying to preserve some body heat. </p><p> </p><p>“Bit nippy in here, huh?” Charles knew it was Daniel before he even saw his fellow principal, the Aussie’s accent unmistakable. </p><p> </p><p>“I am stupid,” Charles admitted, without looking up at Daniel. “I left my sweatshirt in Romain’s.”</p><p> </p><p>Daniel’s quiet for a moment. Which must have felt like an eternity for the perpetually chatty dancer. Charles was thrown off by the silence. He hadn’t thought he’d said something wrong. Had he come off whiny? It really was quite cold in the studio. </p><p> </p><p>The soft thunk of fabric falling into his lap causes him to jump slightly. Daniel’s sweatshirt rested in his lap and the owner himself was settling down next to him. Charles could feel his face flushing. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be ok.” He held the hoodie out towards Daniel. </p><p> </p><p>Daniel rolled his eyes and pushed the article of clothing back at him. “I’m not the one who looks on the verge of freezing. As I recall we’re doing <em>Giselle</em> not <em>The Snow Queen</em>. And I don’t want to dance with a popsicle.” He gave Charles a pointed look.</p><p> </p><p>Charles could feel his face burning even brighter while he pulled the oversized hoodie over his head. But as soon as Daniel’s sweatshirt was on he felt immediately warmer. The fabric was worn in, cozy. And the scent of Daniel’s cologne didn’t hurt matters either. </p><p> </p><p>“Better right?” Daniel ruffled his hair cheekily. “Nico owes me one now since I stopped his star from contracting hypothermia.” </p><p> </p><p>As if he could sense when his name was mentioned, Nico Rosberg walked through the doors. The choreographer had several large poster boards tucked under his arm. For the first time Charles noticed the empty easel in front. He had to admit, he was incredibly curious about Nico’s concept. If there was one thing Nico Rosberg productions were not, it was expected. </p><p> </p><p>“All here?” Nico paused only for a moment. “Good. Then we can begin. First I’ll introduce the concept driving the production and then we’ll dive straight into a company number.” </p><p> </p><p>“As you all know, I take a more expressionist, abstract approach to pieces. This will be no different. The story of <em>Giselle</em> isn’t peasant costumes and the forest. The story is heart ache, grief, forgiveness. Core themes you as dancers must express.” </p><p> </p><p>Nico set up the first poster. On it was a dark, plain backdrop, a sketch of an odd bubble like structure and some rough designs for costumes. Charles was immediately struck by the glaring modernity of it. The set, if you could call it that, had an almost sterile feel to it. Truly nowhere to hide.The company would be bright shapes on a plain backdrop. Streaks of watercolors on a muted backdrop. </p><p> </p><p>Nico smiled wryly at the shocked silence that fell over the company. “Not what you were expecting? Good. We’re trying to do something fresh here. Now, onto the second act.”</p><p> </p><p>The second poster was a near reversal of the first one. The dark backdrop was switched for a blinding white one and bright costumes for somber and black tones. Charles had to admit, the concept was spectacular. </p><p> </p><p>“We’re telling the story through color and movement. Nothing more. I want it to be beautiful. But also brutal. We do this right, and the audience will be weeping in their seats by the time Charles takes his final bow.” Nico smirked. “And the critics love nothing more than a good cry-fest.” </p><p> </p><p>“No pressure on us then.” Daniel winked and poked Charles in the side. </p><p> </p><p>Charles knew Daniel meant nothing by it, but his stomach still twisted uncomfortably all the same. Nico Rosberg’s expectations were notoriously high. But this production superseded any of his others. And of course it just so happened to be his debut. A less than perfect performance could ruin his principal career before it even got started. Charles thought he might be sick. </p><p> </p><p>“You alright mate?” George asked, looking over at Charles with a concerned look. “You’ve gone a bit pale.” </p><p> </p><p>Charles gave what he hoped wasn’t a panicked smile. “Yeah. Yeah I’m fine.”</p><p> </p><p>Nico let them chatter among themselves for a few moments before commanding their attention again. “Alright I want to start with the first villager number. Principal’s you can mark along in the back if you want to, but don’t bother committing the steps to memory. You’ll get your choreo in a separate rehearsal” </p><p> </p><p>Charles made his way to the back where Daniel and Valtteri already were, Dany hanging a slight distance away uncertainly, the Russian shooting furtive looks at Pierre. </p><p> </p><p>The rest of rehearsal passes by fairly uneventfully. Nico was preoccupied with whipping the corps into shape and let his principals be. Charles isn’t sure if he’s grateful or disappointed. He’d been a bundle of nerves. And all for nothing. One thing was certain though: he hadn’t gotten nearly the workout he expected. It wouldn’t hurt to stop in the gym for a bit afterwards. He’s packed up and heading out the door to just that when a hand on his arm stops him. </p><p> </p><p>“Rosberg wants to see you before you go,” George tells him. “See you tomorrow, mate.”</p><p> </p><p>Charles worked his way upstream through the flow of dancers pouring out of the studio, back up to the front where Nico was waiting for him. The choreographer was leaning casually against the wall but looked up from his phone when Charles arrived. </p><p> </p><p>“You wanted to see me, Sir?”</p><p> </p><p>Nico laughed and pushed himself off the wall. “Just Nico please. I’m not that old.” Nico had been ensconced in the upper echelons of the ballet world through his father’s connections since before he could walk. It was all too easy to forget the revered choreographer was only in his thirties. “I wanted to discuss an important decision I need you to make in the next week or so.”</p><p> </p><p>Seeing Charles’ quizzical look, he went on. “As you know, Giselle dies at the end of the first act. However, there are two interpretations that I want you to choose between. The most common one is you die from a weak, broken heart. Another, and actually the original interpretation, is you kill yourself with Albrecht’s sword.”</p><p> </p><p>Charles' eyebrows shot up. He’d known that. But he hadn’t expected Nico to present such a choice to him. It fundamentally changed the meaning of several scenes. </p><p> </p><p>“And you’re letting <em>me</em> pick which one?” </p><p> </p><p>Nico chuckled. “Don’t look so doubtful. It’s not a trick. I’m perfectly happy with either interpretation. Pick whichever one most speaks to you. I just need to know soon so that I can choreograph the scene.” Nico leaned down and grabbed his bag. “Think it over.” Turning his back, the choreographer left the studio, concept drawings still set up in the front. </p><p> </p><p>Charles watched him go for a moment, still a bit shocked that Nico was giving him any creative decision making power at all. Rosberg was a notorious control freak: an exacting choreographer who pushed his dancers to the limit to achieve his, often ingenious, vision. </p><p> </p><p>He took a moment to run a finger across the poster boards, trying to envision himself dancing through the brutalist world Nico imagined. He couldn’t really. Not yet. But perhaps that would come in time. Maybe it was better to enter into the production as a clean slate with no preconceived notions of what Giselle would be. Charles lingers a moment longer before finally tearing himself away when he remembered he wanted to go down to the gym one more time before heading home. </p><p> </p><p>The walk down isn’t far and he soon arrives. Peering through the glass, Charles is pleased to see the gym looks deserted. He walks in, makes a beeline for his favorite treadmill, and gets about six or so kilometers in when he has to call it quits. He's hopped off the treadmill and gathered his stuff to go shower when the sound of a Dutch accent coming out of the adjacent locker rooms alerts him to someone else's presence. </p><p> </p><p>In the reflection of the window he can see Max making his way from the changing rooms back into the gym while chatting to someone on the phone. Max catches his eye and a slow grin spreads across his face.</p><p>“Sorry, Dan.” He was clearly speaking louder so that Charles could hear him. “Can’t do Wednesday? But how about Friday?” There was a brief pause during which Charles assumed Daniel was answering. “Great see you tomorrow. Bye.” Max pocketed his phone, never taking his eyes off Charles. </p><p> </p><p>Not wanting to give Max the satisfaction of engagement Charles tried to sidestep him to get to the showers but Max easily blocked him. “Where you running off to, Princess? Have a hot date?” </p><p> </p><p>Charles scowled at him.  “I just want to shower, Verstappen. Let me through.”</p><p> </p><p>Max rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Like I said, you're no fun.” He pulled the hood of his orange hoodie up. “See you around, Leclerc.”</p><p> </p><p>Charles watched him leave, just to make sure he didn’t come back. When he could no longer see the Dutchman’s silhouette he let out a breath and sank to the floor, back against the wall. Even the thought of showering now seemed too exhausting. The walk to the train might as well have been a death march. Maybe he could just sleep here. At least, take a nap. </p><p> </p><p>Charles had just let his head fall back and his eyes close when someone shook his shoulder gently. Blearily, he opened his eyes, and found himself face to face with a very concerned looking Daniil Kvyat. </p><p> </p><p>“Charles! Are you all right?” The Russian’s tone was one of slight panic. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine.” Charles responded slowly. “Just...a bit tired.” He was touched at how much Dany seemed to oddly care. </p><p> </p><p>The Russian frowned. “ I saw you here this morning. What are you doing back?”</p><p> </p><p>Charles shrugged. His shoulders felt like lead. Fittings were soon. He needed to be in fir for measuring. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on,” Dany tugged him to his feet. “You can’t sleep down there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who says?”</p><p> </p><p>At that, the Russian let out a laugh. “Your neck and back muscles in the morning, that’s who. You’re going to want a sweatshirt by the way. It’s a bit cold out.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think I can walk back right now, Dany.” Charles glanced away embarrassed. God, how lazy did he sound. </p><p> </p><p>Daniil looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Yeah. Yeah no. You’re taking a car back. I’ve already ordered one for me. You can ride along. I’ll add you to the route right now.”</p><p> </p><p>Charles tried to protest but the older dancer was not to be swayed. Reluctantly he gave Dany his address and let himself be herded out of LSS. </p><p> </p><p>When they made it outside Charles immediately shivered. Dany was right. He did need a sweatshirt. Hoping the Russian wouldn’t notice, Charles pulled the sweatshirt Daniel had given him at rehearsal out and put it on. Dany gave him a side eye but mercifully remained quiet on the matter. Just a few minutes later the car showed up and they both clambered into the back seat. </p><p> </p><p>Once they’re on their way, lights of LSS fading into the background, Charles notices Dany keeps looking at him. Charles couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t everyday you walked out of the showers and found a principal dancer nearly passed out on the floor. </p><p> </p><p>“I admire your dedication Charles,” Dany said hesitantly, breaking the quiet. “But you might want to take it easy every once and a while.” Dany paused for a moment, seeming to weigh up his next words. “You know if it’s the fittings you’re worried about, I’m sure Hamilton will have no complaints.”</p><p> </p><p>Charles shifted self-consciously and pulled the hoodie tighter around him. This really wasn't a conversation he wanted to be having right now. Or ever.</p><p> </p><p>Rather than addressing Dany’s comments he reverted to a safer topic. </p><p> </p><p>“Congratulations on getting Hilarion.” He gave the Russian a smile. “I have to say I’m happy it’s not Max.” </p><p> </p><p>A grin spread across the older dancer’s  face and he let out a short bark of laughter. “Thanks, Charles.” Dany leaned across and whispered mischievously  into Charles' ear. “And just between you and me...I don’t think Max will have to do much acting as Bathilde.”  Dany smirked before pulling away and looking out the window. “Looks like we’re at your place.” </p><p> </p><p>Sure enough, they were. Charles said one last thank you before he dragged himself out of the car, and watched it drive away into the city unti it was just another speck of light in the constantly shifting constellations of traffic. Carpooling with Daniil Kvyat was not at all how he expected his evening to go. A nasty voice in the back of his mind whispered that he should be worried about the Russian talking about finding him half asleep in the gym. Charles batted the thought away. Dany wasn’t one to talk about other people’s business. If anything Charles was glad it was Daniil that woke him up. Not one of the more gossip-loving corps members. Or God forbid, Max. Summoning the last of his energy Charles plodded up the stairs to his apartment. Not even bothering to undress, he fell face first onto his bed. Immediately the wave of exhaustion hits him and he’s out, the warmth of a borrowed hoodie and smell of vanilla following him into a dreamless sleep. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm so sorry for the LATE update! University life got quite busy! Good news though I got As on both my exams I was prepping for! Thank you to everyone who commented! I'll be going back and responding to them soon. Seriously, it means the world to me.<br/>As always, come yell at me on tumblr: special-formula</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. the way you smile golden</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next few days pass by relatively routinely. Morning run, breakfast, morning classes, lunch with the trio, rehearsals, bed, repeat. With gym sessions shoved in wherever his busy schedule allows. Every night Charles went to bed exhausted and with a twinge of hunger in his stomach, but woke up ready to do it all over again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He fully expected Friday to pass in much the same way. And it would have. If it weren’t for a certain friendly Australian. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They had just finished rehearsals for the day, only a small group of dancers remained in the studio, and Charles was going through his stretching and cooldown routine when Daniel sits down across from him. Charles was too tired to even hazard a guess as to what Daniel wanted to discuss. So he waited for his fellow principal to tell hum. He didn’t have to wait long. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So... I was thinking we should find a time to get lunch or coffee,” Daniel said. “Or coffee. I’m not sure if that’s your thing. But you know-yeah. We’ll be starting our pas de deux rehearsals soon and I errr... I’d like to get to know you a bit more.” Charles was surprised at how nervous Daniel seemed. He couldn’t possibly fathom the handsome Australian ever being rejected in his life. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’d like that.” Charles gave him a small smile. “Although I’m more of a tea person.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At Charles' response, Daniel immediately broke into his trademark grin. “Great!” He shot to his feet giving a little bounce. “I’ll text you the address of this little cafe by Bastions Park.” He paused for the moment, grin changing into a more mischievous smirk. “Which means I’ll need your number, my dear.” He pulled out his phone and held it down to Charles level. “Give me your digits, darling.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles couldn’t help but smile as he input his number into Daniel’s phone and then handed it back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daniel pocketed it with another little bounce. “How does noon Saturday sound?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh. That was tomorrow. “Umm. Yeah that works.” He was still a bit taken aback about how easily Daniel went about things that Charles would normally agonize over. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Awesome! See you tomorrow then.” Daniel ruffled Charles' hair before departing, leaving a slightly shocked Monegasque in his wake. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sound of nearby cathedral bells ringing reminded Charles he needed to get back to his apartment and get ready for the evening. He’d promised to come to the trio’s for dinner. It was a relatively regular thing, and as long as Lando wasn’t cooking, the food tended to be pretty good. At the thought of food, his stomach rumbled. He’d skipped lunch today, knowing he had dinner plans. Well that wasn’t entirely true. He’d gone to lunch and sat with Alex and the rest. He just hadn’t done much more than pick at the cranberries in the salad he wasn’t even sure why he packed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The smell of Thai food and Alex’s smile greet Charles mere seconds after he knocks on the apartment door a few hours later. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Charlito!” Alex grins. “Come in! You can help me with the last of the stir fry. George is setting the table.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles follows him in, dumping his jacket on the sofa. If he hadn’t walked here he wouldn’t have brought it. For some reason the trio’s apartment always felt as cozy as it looked. “Where’s Lando?” He asked, following Alex into the kitchen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh. He’s been banished from the kitchen.” Alex grinned, looking back over his shoulder. “He somehow burned our first batch of noodles.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh are we talking about Lando’s abysmal culinary skills?” George turned around from where he was pulling out glasses from a cabinet. “Can I get you anything to drink Charles?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just water.” Charles looked over at Alex. “You said you needed help?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah can you watch the bok choy? It should only take a few minutes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t char it!” George passed him a glass of water with a wink. “I thought Alex was going to take my head off when I got distracted last time I was in charge of his precious bok choy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles laughed and turned his attention to the quietly sizzling vegetable. As much as he liked living alone, he really enjoyed the camaraderie that always was present when he came to visit the trio. He’d spent countless nights here with the trio, ensconced within the warm walls of the apartment, so distinctly different from his minimalist white abode. In many ways, it was like a second home. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think it’s good to go Alebono” he informed his friend, peering down at the browning vegatable.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alex leaned over his shoulder and gave a nod. “Excellent timing Charlie! See George. This is what perfectly caramelized bok choy looks like.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Brit rolled his eyes. “Should I let Lando know we’re ready?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Might as well.” Alex dumped the stir fried veggies and shrimp onto a heaping pile of noodles. Charles winced internally. He had hoped they’d keep them separate. It was easier to control his ratio of veggies to noodles. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oy Lando!” George hollered. “Alex says you’re allowed back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was the thump of socked feet running and then moments later Lando appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “Well if the king of the kitchen has ended my exile it must be time to eat. Which is good. Because I’m starving.” He plopped down in one of the four kitchen chairs. “How you doing Charles?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles shrugged. “Fine. Same as usual.” He never knew how to answer that question. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lando arched an eyebrow. “So overthinking, overworking, and dancing circles around the rest of us, got it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alex shot the youngest Brit a look. “Be nice, Norris.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” Lando, fake pouted. “I thought friends were honest with each other.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George elbowed the smaller dancer in the side. “Just go get the water out of the fridge.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alex shook his head at Lando’s antics and plopped a steaming bowl of his stir fry down in the middle of the table. “Bone apple teeth.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s such an old meme Alex.” Lando placed the pitcher down on the table and immediately scooped a large portion of the food onto his plate. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you want to critique my presentation then you can cook your own dinner.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ok Mom.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles shook his head in amusement and began to serve himself, using their distraction as an opportunity to put together a plate of mostly veggies. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You know it’s not a crime to eat the noodles.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles jumped in his seat. Shit. He’d forgotten about George. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m just not that hungry.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>George gave him a look that very clearly showed the Brit wasn’t falling for it. “I distinctly remember you eating approximately three cranberries over the course of lunch today. And don’t tell me you ate later because we both know that’s not true.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles stared straight down at his plate, refusing to look at George. “You sound just like Romain,” he muttered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George’s brow furrowed in concern. “Romain talked to you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles stabbed a vegetable with his fork. “It’s nothing. Just a routine check up.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>George went silent and Charles thought the conversation had ended. That was until a spoonful of noodles plopped onto his plate. He froze, looking at the pile of carbs that now covered his veggies and shrimp. He could always pick through them, but it would be much more obvious. Clearly George had had the same thought. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They aren’t even ramen, Charles.” George leaned back over, voice low. “They’re just rice noodles.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles restrained the urge to roll his eyes. Like that made it so much better. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What are you two whispering about?” Alex asked. He and Lando had finally finished their routine bickering and were now engrossed in their own plates. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I-um” Charles was caught off guard. “We were-“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Charles was just telling me about his conversation with a certain Australian. Weren’t you Charles?” George answered smoothly, not a trace of dishonesty in his voice. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lando’s eyes lit up. “Come on! Tell us!” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Has Ricciardo asked you out yet?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles blushed. “Well. Actually...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alex choked on his water. “Oh my god! Really?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles couldn’t contain the smile that spread across his face. “We’re getting coffee tomorrow at this coffee shop by Bastions. I mean it’s probably just because he wants to get to know his partner better. I don’t think Daniel sees me that way.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mate, are you blind? Because he definitely sees you that way.” George scoffed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Did he ask for you number?” Alex asked. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles could feel himself turning redder. “Umm, yeah. He did.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Omg. It’s so a date! Oh Alex, our little boy is growing up,” Lando fake wiped tears from his eyes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m literally older than you, Lando” Charles retorted. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lando waved his hand, “Details. Details.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rest of dinner passes by in a blur of familiar conversation before they eventually transition to the couch. George turned on Netflix and they watched a few episodes of a crime show. Charles can feel himself beginning to tire after the end of the second one and stands up, preparing to head out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I should probably go, guys.” Charles scooped up his jacket. “It’s getting late.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Gotta get that beauty sleep.”</p>
<p>"Tell Daniel we say hi!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alex rolled his eyes at the other two dancers' responses. “Ignore them.” He walked Charles to the door. “Have fun tomorrow. And tell me all about it later.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thanks, Alex.” Charles gave a wave to his friends. “Bye, guys.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Morning comes too quickly. Charles felt like he’d just gotten back to his apartment and gone to bed yet somehow the sun was up, turning the white walls of his apartment a pale gold. Today was the day. At the thought of his meet-up with Daniel his heart sped up. Charles tried to quash down his nerves, hoping his morning run would stop the butterflies in his stomach .It worked for a bit, mostly because he ran an extra three kilometers, but by the time he got back to his apartment his hands were full on shaking. (Although that could also be attributed to the lack of breakfast.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After his shower Charles stands in front of his closet, clothes scattered around him on the floor. Nothing seemed right. Daniel was a pretty casual guy, so he didn’t want to show up over dressed. But he also didn’t want to look like a slob. Finally after much debate he settles on dark wash jeans and a simple white neck mock t-shirt and his white sneakers. He couldn't go wrong with classic. He hoped. </p>
<p>An hour later he’s on his way to the coffee shop, piano music playing in his ears in an attempt to calm himself. Should he wait inside or outside? Daniel hadn’t specified. He needn’t have worried. Daniel was waiting for him outside the shop, the Australian dressed in black skinny jeans and a colorful patterned button down. As soon as the older dancer sees Charles, his whole face lights up with a smile when he waves the Monegasque over. And wham. Yep. The butterflies were back in full force. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey Charles!” Daniel paused for a minute for Charles to reach him before continuing. “How was the rest of your night?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Went over to Alex, George and Lando’s for dinner actually.” Charles gestured to the little coffee shop. Palette, the sign said. “I’ve never been here. How is it?“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Prepare to have your mind blown.” Daniel held open the door for him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles looked around in amazement as he entered. He had to admit, he understood the appeal. Two of Palette's walls were entirely made of glass from floor to ceiling and looked out on Bastions Park across the street. The other walls were exposed brick with various pieces of art covering them. Large counters lined the front glass and in the back of the shop small tables were spread throughout. It was trendy. It was cool. It was exactly the type of place he would expect Daniel to go.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They order their drinks, an Americano for Daniel and Chai for Charles, and settle at one of the tables closer to the window. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So,” Daniel starts. “How are you enjoying your first season as LSS’s next big thing?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles blushed. “Oh I wouldn’t say I’m that.” He clasped his fingers around his warm drink. “But yeah. It’s amazing. Lots of work. But amazing.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I remember when I got the call up for principal,” Daniel smiled, leaning back in his chair. “It was after the closing night of <em>Le Corasaire</em> and Alain asked me to stay behind after the closing night reception. I thought for sure I was getting fired.” He laughed. “Instead Prost sits me down in his office and offers me a principal contract. I thought for sure I was dreaming. I even think I asked him to pinch me.” Daniel shook his head fondly before leaning back across the table. “But I heard you got the full executive board treatment with Toto and the gang. Is it true?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles felt his cheeks heat up. “Umm. Yes. I guess so. I got a call from Mattia requesting that I meet them for the day after the closing of <em>Orpheus</em>. It took forever for them to get to the point. Toto and Christian were arguing about the upcoming season and directors. Mattia and Alain were comparing notes on the wine they’d ordered. And I was just sitting there with no idea what they wanted.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh come on. Surely you had to have some idea?” Daniel looked at him expectantly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles shook his head. “I’d only been at LSS for two years. I wasn’t arrogant enough to think they’d be promoting me to principle the season after I made soloist.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They’d have been foolish not to.” Daniel wrapped his fingers around Charles fidgeting fingers. “You completely stole the spotlight. I remember Sebastian fuming over the reviews because they hardly mentioned him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles frowned. “I hadn’t meant to. I hope he knows that. I wasn’t trying to upstage him. I thought I was just doing my job.” He felt embarrassed. He knew he’d been brought in to replace Sebastian But he hadn’t thought he’d contributed to the German’s demotion. . </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, hey no,” Daniel soothed him. “You shone, Charles. I remember you dancing those solos. Seb was on his last legs as principal anyway. And yes. I can promise you that Sebastian doesn’t hold a grudge against you. Against the board though...:” Daniel trailed off. “Anyway, how’s the tea? I just had to take you here, it reminds me so much of a place in Perth.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Excellent.” Charles was happy the conversation was switching away from dance. “Do you miss Australia?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> “Honestly, yeah,” Daniel replied. “Every time it gets too cold here I think about sitting out on the deck of our brewery and farm and watching the sunset. Or days spent on the coast with friends. A shadow of wistfulness flickered across Daniel’s face. “I bet you’d love Oz.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’d probably burn. Or get eaten by a snake.” Charles joked. “Your family owns a brewery?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was Daniel’s turn to blush. “Err, yeah. Taste of Perth. We just call it TOP.” He paused a minute to take another sip of his coffee. “But how about you? Miss Monaco much?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now that was a much more complicated question than Daniel realized. Yes, of course Charles missed his home and his family. But the memories associated with Monaco and Prima Academy in Italy were painful, still raw. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sometimes. But I’m doing what I love, so it’s not too bad.” It was a diplomatic answer, not giving away too much. Daniel seemed to register that it was a sensitive topic and didn’t push him, which Charles appreciated. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Have you been to Bastions Park before? It’s supposed to be beautiful this time of year before all the leaves fall.” Daniel asked. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Only for a run once or twice,” Charles shrugged, finishing off his tea.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh then we have to go!” Daniel pounded down the last of his coffee. “Shall we?” He held out his hand for Charles to take. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles, charmed by the Australian’s exuberance, allowed himself to be swept out of Palette and across the street. Before he knows it, he’s walking side by side with Daniel through the park as the older man jabbers on about all variety of topics. Charles felt bad that he wasn’t listening very attentively, but he was still a bit shocked to be there in the first place. Daniel was handsome, talented, and popular. In other words, perfect. And somehow he’d decided Charles was worth his time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eventually they came to a bridge that crossed over a little stream and looked out towards where LSS sat in the distance. Charles stopped to take in the view, hands resting lightly on the railing. LSS gleamed like a diamond in the distance, the sun’s rays dancing across its glass exterior. Charles remembered arriving in Geneva for the first time and seeing the famous building that was to be his new home. Most days he still couldn’t believe it. He looked over at Daniel, who had stopped next to him, the Australian leaning back against the railing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You know I never thought I’d make it here.” Charles gestured vaguely to LSS in the distance. “Everyday I walk through those doors and I’m half sure I’ll wake up and it’ll all be a dream. And I’ll be back at the Prima Academy with Jules.” He trailed off and leaned forward, eyes still focused on the distance. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daniel looked at Charles surprised.  He’d danced with Jules briefly, when they were both corps members in Italy. “You’re his godson aren't you?” Charles nodded silently in reply. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Australian remembered that terrible night when the police had come backstage informing them that Jules wouldn’t be making it to that night’s performance. Daniel could vaguely remember a teenager with messy brown hair and sad, pale green eyes, sitting next to Jules’ bed in the hospital a few times he had come to visit. Those same pale eyes were staring up at him in concern. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Daniel?” Charles asked. “Is everything ok?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daniel nodded quickly. “Yep. Want to keep going? There’s a great rose garden just up ahead.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles could clearly see Daniel wasn’t as fine as he claimed to be, but the Australian hadn’t pushed him in Palette, so Charles decided to let it be for now. He followed along in Daniel’s stead, until they reached the garden. Daniel was right; it was absolutely stunning. Rows of roses in beautiful shades of pastel, like a Monet brought to life. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daniel sat down on one bench sprinkled sporadically amongst the flowers. Charles joined him, shoulder brushing Daniel’s. They sit quietly for a minute. For once Daniel seemed to be waiting for Charles to be the first to speak. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nico’s having me decide how Giselle dies at the end of the first act.” He doesn’t know why decides to tell Daniel that, but it was the first thing that came out of his mouth. “I need to choose if I actually die from a weak heart or if I kill myself with your sword when I take it from you during my Mad Scene.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Rosberg is giving up creative power?” Daniel couldn’t hide the shocked tone in his voice. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles huffed out a laugh. “Trust me. I was as surprised as you.” He started to pick at his fingers. “In the original production Giselle actually does take her own life. And I think I’m leaning towards that. But...it’s just a very dark interpretation.” He looked over at Daniel. “What do you think?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, it’s not my choice to make. But I will say if you’re worried about it being too dark, I wouldn’t be. I mean, we all saw those concept boards. And if the rumors are anything to go by, Lewis’ costumes are in a very similar vein.” Daniel took Charles’ hand. “Just do what you think is right, Charles. Clearly Nico trusts you enough to give you an option. And that says a lot.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They sit and chat together for a bit longer before Daniel pulls out his phone to check the time. The Australian curses under his breath when he sees how much time had passed and reluctantly lets go of Charles' hand. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I hate to do this, but I have to go.” Daniel looked truly apologetic to be leaving.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Charles reassured him. He hadn’t expected Daniel to spend so long with him, in the first place. Today had already surpassed any of his expectations. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daniel stood up, straightening out his jeans, before ducking down and plucking a rose from the ground, and held it out towards Charles, stem held delicately between his tanned fingers. "For you."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles looked at the Australian in shock, thrown by the overtly romantic gesture. Slowly, he also stood and carefully took the proffered flower from Daniel, mouth slightly agape. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daniel chuckled, ruffling Charles' hair before letting his hand caress the monegasque’s cheek for a moment. “See you on Monday, Charles.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charles watched him leave, still standing in shock. Was this how Giselle felt when Albrecht first? If so, he knew which of the two options Nico gave him he had decided on. He only hoped he wouldn’t experience in real life the same heartbreak that drove Giselle to such a low. But Daniel would never intentionally deceive him. He was sure of it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ugh yet again I took longer to update than I wanted. I'm already so excited to write the next chapter. Number 5 already wow! (So long still to go tho.) This story is just about to kick into high gear. Buckle up, darlings!</p>
<p>As always, come and yell at me on tumblr: special-formula</p>
<p>Comments and kudos are appreciated more than you know.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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